


A True Warrior

by badskippy



Series: Bagginshield One-Offs [9]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Shire, Baking, M/M, Scones, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5299277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lobelia is fit to be tied!  Just HOW in the name of the Green Lady does Bilbo keep winning the annual Shire Faire Bake Off?!</p><p>Just what is his secret?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A True Warrior

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beetle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/gifts).



> Came from this "Prompt" on Tumblr ...
> 
> erbor asked:  
> so we all know that Thorin adores Bilbo's cooking but no one suspects that Bilbo is head over heels in love with Thorin's baking. no dwarf should be capable of baking so well. Bilbo guards the secret jealously. everyone just assumes the superb scones are his doing and Thorin is fine with it because some idiot once said that dwarf warriors don't bake and he has a reputation to keep.
> 
> serenbach86 answered:  
> Can you imagine Lobelia desperately trying to steal the recipe though? And Bilbo is all “you will never discover my secret.” And No one would ever suspect that his secret is Thorin.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

            Bilbo Baggins walked calmly through the crowd, his now empty market basket swinging slightly on his arm, pointedly ignoring the stares, glares, and frowns from his competitors.  He even ignored, at present, the amused smiles of his supporters.  He held his head up, his look locked straight ahead, and if there was a self-satisfied smile on his face, few would blame him for it; even many of the more disgruntled competitors wouldn't blame him. In fact, most would have said, had they been asked, Bilbo’s smile was far more smug in that moment than anything else.

            He would not have argued with that sentiment.

            “I demand a recount!” came a shrill voice off to one side. Shocked murmurs rippled through the assembled Hobbits; no one had ever demanded a review once the votes were counted, let alone after the ribbons were given out.  “He’s cheating!”  Gasps followed the statement, but Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was clearly not to be deterred. She pushed her way through the multitude, even as most rushed out of her way.  She marched herself right up and stood before Bilbo, stopping him in his tracks.

            “You are only embarrassing yourself, Lobelia,” Bilbo said calmly, his gaze never wavering. 

            “Don’t try and throw this back on me!” Lobelia had both fists on her hips, ready for battle.

            “You need to be a gracious _loser_ ,” Bilbo commented lightly, with just a touch of emphasis on the last word.

            “I shouldn’t _be_ a loser,” Lobelia spat out.  “Nor anyone else here, Bilbo Baggins, because you cheated!”

            More murmurs resounded, but Bilbo ignored them.  “I did no such thing.”

            “You did so!” Lobelia was turning red.  “In the seventeen years before you went on that … _adventure_ … you hardly _ever_ entered the baking contest, let alone won any prizes!  But now … _NOW_ , you not only win, but you … _DARE_ , to win the grand prize every blasted year for the last five!” Lobelia was so angry, so puffed up and red in the face, she looked like one Bilbo’s prized, stuffed tomatoes. “I _demand_ to know how you’ve done it!”

            The gasps turned to shock now; no one would ever dream of asking in private, let alone in public, to know another baker’s secret. Yet, Bilbo didn’t need to see the crowd to know that more than a few were backing Lobelia’s demands.

            With a slow breath in, Bilbo said, “I learned many things in my travels—”

            “Like stealing,” Lobelia hissed.

            “—so it can be no wonder that I’ve applied those arts to my cooking.”

            “Arts? As if you can call thievery an art!”

            “Maybe he stole a secret recipe!” someone said.

            “Maybe the dragon imparted some wisdom to him!” someone else added.

            “Maybe it was the Grey Wizard?” came a whispered guess.

            “Magic … what else could explain those scones!” someone commented.

            “It is not magic,” Bilbo said tiredly; they’d been down this road before.

            “I wouldn’t doubt some nefarious reason,” Lobelia stated. “He did marry a _Dwarf_ after all!”

            More shocked mumblings spread through the crowd, but this time it was only because they knew what was to come.

            “Let’s get this straight,” Bilbo said, his smile turned to a snarl. “You can question me all day long, you can fling insults all you like, but don’t you _ever_ sneer at my husband!”  Lobelia blinked and actually took a step back as Bilbo continued.  “Say what you like about me,” Bilbo was spitting mad. “But I warn you, you will regret being born if you say one … more … _word_ , about my husband!”

            That brought a rather chilly end to the argument.

            “Enough of this,” said a quiet, calm voice behind them.  Everyone turned to the Mayor as he came towards the feuding cousins. “We have no need for a second tasting and vote casting.”

            Lobelia was outraged.  “But—”

            “No,” The Mayor said.  “It was a blind tasting and I am confident that the best scone won.  I doubt a second round will provide a different outcome.”

            Lobelia looked beside herself and ready to spit nails.  “This isn’t over, Bilbo Baggins!”

            “According to the Mayor, it is,” Bilbo said.

            “I’ll discover your secret if it kills me!” Lobelia stated, storming off.

            “We can only hope,” Bilbo added dryly.

            Since the dramatic scene was over, the Mayor congratulated Bilbo again, just as he’d done when he presented Bilbo with the blue ribbons for ‘Best Scones in the Shire’ and the Judge's 'Discretionary Award', and the remaining crowd dispersed.  Bilbo was in no doubt that his and Lobelia’s spat would be talked of, spread about, discussed, dissected and debated, all the while making the gossip rounds for the next several days.

            Bilbo shrugged; he didn’t care.

            Making his way up the hill to Bag End, he whistled a jaunty tune, waved at Belle Gamgee as he pasted – she never entered the contest; far too busy for that nonsense she would say – and was in a far better mood upon entering his home.

            “Thorin!” Bilbo called, wiping his feet on the mat.  “I’m back!”  Bilbo placed his empty basket on the hallway table so that he could remove and hang up his jacket.  “Are you home?”

            There were a few more moments of silence before he heard Thorin’s heavy tread.

            “I was at the back of the pantry,” Thorin said, coming into the parlour. He was dressed in a pale blue tunic and charcoal colored trousers.  He didn’t wear his boots in the house; his feet simply covered in heavy, wool socks. But it was the long, bid-apron, covered in stains that made Bilbo smile.

            “Two Blue Ribbon,” Bilbo said, holding out the badges for Thorin to see.  "Best Scones _and_ the Discretionary Award!"

            “Congratulations,” Thorin said, leaning down to kiss Bilbo’s nose.

            “That’s for both of us.”

            “It’s your recipe.”

            “But it’s your baking!”

            “I only follow your instructions, hardly something worth praise.”

            “Nonsense! It’s because of you that the scones are prize winning!”

            It was an old argument with them.

  

\-----ooooo-----

 

            It had begun on one of the first mornings after their marriage. Thorin had announced that he was making Bilbo breakfast, which of course shocked his Hobbit husband; who knew the former Dwarf-king could cook?!  Thorin insisted that his years ‘roughing it on the road’ and ‘assisting Dis with Fili and Kili’ had given him the basic knowledge to make breakfast. Bilbo was thrilled and frankly, wouldn’t have cared how simple or edible the meal was, as far as he was concerned, having his husband cook for him was beyond measure!

            And Bilbo had been amazed!  He sat quietly at the kitchen table and watched Thorin work the cooking utensils with such dexterity, that it was like watching Thorin’s deadly dance with Orcrist!   From the eggs to the potatoes to the grilled tomatoes and bangers, Thorin still, somehow, ended up making a small batch of scones that cooked as they eat the excellent meal.

            But when the scones came out of the oven, Bilbo thought he’d died and gone to on to Yavanna’s Ever Green Fields!  Soft inside with the thinnest of crusts on the outside, and the crunch of the sprinkled sugar on top was wondrous!   Despite being stuffed from breakfast, Bilbo couldn’t help himself and had three of the golden warm scones before he knew it.  He’d begged to know the secret but Thorin stated that he only followed Bilbo’s recipe, the one Thorin found on the kitchen counter, and which in turn had been Belladonna’s.  Bilbo demanded that it was no joke and that he had to know, but Thorin insisted just as strongly that there truly was no secret.

            _Maybe it was a fluke_ , Bilbo told himself.

            _Maybe it had to do with humidity or something_?

            _Maybe it was the bowl Thorin used_?

            For the next several weeks, at random times, Bilbo would ask Thorin to make a batch of scones.  Thorin laughed but never told Bilbo no.  Each and every time, the scones came out like gifts from the Valar.

            Bilbo tried himself but, while his were totally adequate when compared to his husband's, and Thorin ate them with relish, Bilbo knew the truth; they were just not the same as Thorin’s!

            Finally, Bilbo asked again and wondered aloud – might he watch Thorin carefully while he mixed the batter?  It was a bold thing to ask; no self-respecting Hobbit would dream of asking another to let them in the kitchen to watch how they made their specialty.  But Bilbo was desperate!

            And desperate times called for desperate measures!

            Thorin laughed lovingly at Bilbo but saw no problem letting Bilbo watch. Thorin appeared to follow the recipe to the letter, but Bilbo soon discovered that Thorin used no measuring devices! NONE!   Bilbo was shocked, but Thorin said that thanks to all his years in the forge, he could tell the weight of something just by holding it in his hands.  Occasionally, Thorin would tilt his head in thought and suddenly add a pinch or dash of this, that or another thing. And when it came time to kneading the dough, Thorin said he ‘felt’ when the dough was ready, not by its look.

            Once again, Thorin’s scones came out perfect.  PERFECT!  And Bilbo had to conceded that Thorin was simply the better baker!

            And that would have been the end of it, If not for Lobelia making those snarky comments!

            A few months after arriving home from his adventure - chest of gold under one arm, a gorgeous, sexy, Dwarf-husband on the other – Bilbo had been out in the front garden, on his hands and knees, weeding, when Lobelia and her equally odious sister-in-law, Dionaea, came walking by, snickering at him.

            “Oh, good-morning Bilbo,” Dionaea said with a rather sticky-sweet smile.

            Bilbo rose up on his knees.  “Good-morning, Dionaea.”

            “We’re surprised to see you out and about,” Lobelia said, her voice like an off-key songbird’s.

            Bilbo sighed; he’d take the bait.  “And why surprised?” 

            “We were sure you’d still be in bed,” Dionaea stated.

            Bilbo looked at the sky.  “It’s nearly ten-thirty.  Not even the _laziest of people_ , would still be in bed at this hour.”  He put as much emphasize on ‘laziest’ as possible, hoping the two loathsome ladies would get the jibe. 

            They seemed to.

             “So,” Lobelia sneered, “does that mean your … _husband_ , is still asleep?”

            Bilbo opened his mouth at the same time the front door opened and Thorin walked out. There was a moment of complete silence, even the birds were quiet, before Thorin broke it.

            “Good-morning Missus and Missus Sackville-Baggins,” Thorin said coolly but politely.

            “Morning, Master Dwarf,” the two sisters-in-law said in unison.

            “Bilbo,” Thorin turned to his spouse.  “I’m sorry to cut your visit short—”

            “Don’t be,” Bilbo growled.

            “—but could help me in the kitchen?”

            “Having trouble boiling water, Master Dwarf?” Lobelia asked evenly while Dionaea giggled.

            Bilbo again opened his mouth to spit fire, but Thorin threw an arm around Bilbo’s shoulder. 

            “I’ve never been very handy in the kitchen,” Thorin said convincingly.

            “Yes,” Lobelia said with a sickening smile.  “I’m sure Bilbo was always ready to … start your fire on your journey.”

            Dionaea laughed, but it sounded only a bit more graceful than a fish trying to sing.

            “Why you piece of—” Bilbo started towards the gate but Thorin grabbed him, holding him back.

            “Don’t, beloved,” Thorin whispered in Bilbo’s ear.

            “See you both at the annual faire, Bilbo,” Dionaea called as the two women walked away.

            “Of course,” Lobelia added, “it might be too early for you two; it starts at noon!”  Both ladies laughed at Lobelia’s joke but Bilbo could only see red; as in Lobelia’s still beating heart in his hands.

            “That no-good, snarky-arsed—”

            “Bilbo,” Thorin said gently, drawing his small husband to him. “You knew they would give us trouble. Don’t let them bother you.”

            “How can you be so dismissive?!”  Bilbo demanded, turning in Thorin’s arms.  “How can you be so … flipping calm?!”  Bilbo was anything but calm at the moment.

            “You taught me to remain calm in the storm of adversity,” Thorin said, swooping down and kissing Bilbo’s nose. 

            “I should never have taught you that,” Bilbo said, feeling righteous Dwarrow anger fill him.  

            “You also taught me,” Thorin said quietly, “that direct attacks aren’t always the best means of getting out of a situation.”

            “Excuse me?” Bilbo was perplexed.

            “The Elven Dungeons,” Thorin said.

            “I’m failing to see—”

            “A rouse … to trick those that would suppress you.”

            Bilbo was still not getting it.  “What are you saying?”

            “Don’t get mad at Lobelia—”

            “Impossible.”

            “—get _even_ with her.”

            Bilbo stilled, a smile spreading slowly over his face. “I like the sound of that.”

            Thorin laughed low and almost sounded evil.  “I thought you might.”

            So it was, just a week later at the annual Shire Faire, at the baking contest that Lobelia had almost always won before, Bilbo finally gave Lobelia her long, overdue, comeuppance.  And Bilbo continued he’s new tradition for the last five years running.

 

\-----ooooo----- 

 

            Sitting by the fire, snuggled warmly next to Thorin, a mug of tea in his hands, his husband reading quietly next to him, their latest Blue Ribbons hanging with the other four on the wall just to the right of the kitchen door, Bilbo was content as he could be.

            Well, almost.

            “Lobelia said she’d find out the secret to our scones,” Bilbo said, taking a sip of tea, “if it killed her.”

            “We should be so lucky,” Thorin said dryly.

            “That's what I said!” Bilbo giggled, but then then had an idea.  "Maybe next year we can up our game."

            “In what way, love?”

            “I wonder how well you’d do with a pie crust.”

            “Dis always said mine were better than most.”

            Bilbo sat up quickly at that.  “Are you telling me you _can_ make pie crust?!”

            Thorin nodded.  “How else could I make meat pies for when I’d travel?”

            Bilbo was shocked.  “Does this mean you can bake other things too?!”

            Thorin nodded.

            “Why am I just hearing about this now?  Why did you never bake on our quest?!”

            Thorin sighed.  “Dwarrow Warriors and Kings aren’t supposed to know how to bake tasty treats.”

            Bilbo laughed.  “Why ever not?”

            “Many Dwarrow consider it … less than masculine, shall we say.”

            “Sod that!”  Bilbo said. “We’ll have none of that talk in this house!”

            Thorin smiled softly.  “On our quest, I was fearful of showing you any side that you might see as unworthy or … weak.”

            Bilbo pulled his husband down by his braids and kissed the Dwarf soundly.

            “Let me tell you something, Thorin, son of Thrain,” Bilbo whispered against Thorin’s lips.  “You could make baking your new profession and you’d not be viewed as weak or unworthy or … _less than masculine_ in my eyes.”

            Thorin smiled and returned Bilbo’s kiss.

            “I have no desire to be a baker,” Thorin said pulling back. “But I will be more than happy to help you defeat Lobelia to win every Blue Ribbon they present.”

            Bilbo giggled.  “Spoken like a true warrior.”

 

 

 


End file.
